


Working Magic

by writemoretranscharacters



Category: Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Midtown (Band)
Genre: Different scenes of Gabe helping Pete relax, M/M, No Smut, Recreational Drug Use, References to Depression, References to Petplay kinda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:47:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25639744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writemoretranscharacters/pseuds/writemoretranscharacters
Summary: "If you were an animal what would you be? Don't say snake," Pete asked. His body slumped down against the pillow. Motel bedding sucked. But it was good enough at the time."Shit uh- like what I wanna be or what I'd pro'ly be?""There's a difference?""Like what you are isn't what you wanna be, ya know?"
Relationships: Gabe Saporta/Pete Wentz
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	Working Magic

**Author's Note:**

> im bored and the gabe/pete tag needs help drop me a comment im drinking and lonely  
> i might add another chapter soon i like this pairing too much and i miss when gabe would post on like anything.

Touring with two 5 piece bands, countless techs, managers, and the three other people in Pete's band meant there was never a second of quiet. Shows were loud because of course they were, they were emo rock bands, loud was their thing. 

Tour busses were full of new song ideas, arguing over who ate who's 'expensive' vegan dip, video games, and fighting over video games. Parties were loud with too many people, too loud music, and too much fakeness.  
Worst of all, Pete's head was loud.  
If it wasn't constant thoughts of self doubt or hatred; his brain was flooded with panic.  
Usually the thump of music and slight sting of vodka Red Bulls would help. 

Tonight was different. Pete wanted to curl up in a ball on the floor, instead he was standing against the wall of a club like a new comer at a hardcore show.  
He watched the sea of people dancing together. The dim lighting obstructed the faces in the crowd. Pete tried to find anyone he knew. 

"There's my boy!" Gabe slid in place next to Pete, throwing a heavy arm around him. The drink he was holding splashed a little on Pete's already gross shirt.

"Party foul."

"I owe you a drink."

"I have one," Pete stated and looked at his almost empty glass.

"Then a dance?"

"Not in the mood."

"I can tell. Tell Gabey what's the matter," he leaned down to talk right in Pete's ear. His breath was warm and smelt like rum and cigarettes. That smell reminded him of trips to the East Coast. It was just missing low tide and a cheap coffee from Exxon.

"Just not like- feelin' it, ya know?" Pete gestured at the crowd, "Like all of it."  
Gabe nodded. 

"Lame crowd. Yeah."

Gabe was good at making excuses for Pete. 'This place sucks', 'I couldn't find it', 'I have booze at mine', or 'I wasn't really hungry', were phrases Gabe used to get his friends out of public places when they were uncomfortable. For whatever reason all of his friends had bad anxiety.

They watched the people dance for a while in silence. Pete was finally able to pick out Patrick talking to a group on the other side of the club, and Bill, who was dancing with someone he would probably follow home and shouldn't. 

"Should go save your boy from herpies," Pete got a laugh out of Gabe once he realized what Pete was talking about.

"Ha! Bilvy worships me, but he listens to no one... Plus I've got plans."

"Plans?"

"With you. Come on. I got bud and there's a motel down the road."

"'Rent by the hour' motel?" Pete cringed, even though a shower and a bed alone sounded good.

"Don't be stuck up. Come on... I have bud." Gabe added like Pete didn't hear him the first time. Or that he needed a reason to follow him. 

A short walk and no explanations to their friends later, the duo ended up in a shitty single bed room. Pete laid at the end of the bed, while Gabe stretched out on the pillows, packing the bowl. 

He took the first hit and passed it to Pete, who held it as long as his weak lungs could. 

"Good shit."

"McCoy's. We traded."

"Traded what?" Pete snorted, passing the pipe back.

"A lady never tells."

"You're no lady."

"And you might be a puppy, but come lay up here with me." 

Pete crawled up the bed, mostly the get at the pipe. Being close to Gabe was a plus. On nights Pete lost his head, people like Gabe could bring him back. 

The group of people Pete kept close seemed to have that magic effect on him. He called them his 'golden boys' mostly in his head, but after he mentioned it to Travie, it became their thing. 

The 'thing' became permanent with Travie and Pete's tattoos. There was talk of getting the others to get them too, but Gabe's dad would kill him, Bill was scared (he wouldn't admit it), and the other former 'golden boys' were exiled.  
Sometimes people don't stick around like they should.

Gabe's talking the whole time Pete's thinking of course. It's rambling about parties and albums and strangers. The steady stream of noise got lost in his head.  
His hands are shaking less by the fourth time he got the pipe. 

"I wanna listen soon." Pete chimed in, voice scratchier than before.

"Soon. I swear, Suarez and I gotta tweak a few things."

"Work your magic."

Gabe smiled back, hazy eyed and a toothy grin. After ruffling Pete's hair gently he switched to just running his fingers through it. He briefly thinks Gabe's petting him like a cat. 

"If you were an animal what would you be? Don't say snake," Pete asked. His body slumped down against the pillow. Motel bedding sucked. But it was good enough at the time.

"Shit uh- like what I wanna be or what I'd pro'ly be?" 

"There's a difference?"

"Like what you are isn't what you wanna be, ya know?" 

"Gabe, no philosophy bullshit."

Gabe snorted and tugged Pete's hair gently, "Not bullshit. Come on, take another hit so I can talk."

He holds the pipe and relights it for Pete. His eyes are blown out and a little red. Dark circles are threatening to ruin Gabe's stupidly perfect skin. 

"You need to sleep more." Pete exhaled with the words.

"Coming from you? Tsk. Tsk... Hypocrite."  
Gabe's hand stilled on his hair as he laughed. Pete wanted to nuzzle it. The action could be blamed on the really good weed. 

"Whatcha need?" Gabe's voice changed to a lower tone. He started stroking Pete's hair again, getting him to relax a bit.

"I dunno."

"Think about it. I'm not goin' anywhere anytime soon."

Pete let Gabe push him down into his firm chest. Though he didn't like to admit it, he liked to be pushed around. Running his record label, trying to keep his friends in check, releasing a clothing line, and being the face of his band meant Pete always had to be in control. Having someone else take the lead helped. 

A few girlfriends were cool with Pete's submissive nature on occasion, but never all the time. Pete wasn't going to be a guy that thought 'it's natural girls like to be the one being dominated', hell, he'd been pegged enough times to know that wasn't true. He just found that guys were more likely to take control. His one boyfriend, well whatever Mikey was, said Pete's 'kink is cool'. 

Pete wanted to argue that it wasn't a kink, it was just a way to not be in his head. Then one hotel night Mikey brought out rope and the argument was lost. 

"Petey, Pete, talk to me," Gabe pleaded, blowing smoke out. He pulled Pete's hair again gently to get his attention fully.

"What?"

"Just talk. I'm bored and wanna know what's wrong."

"I'm stressed, Gabey. Tired."

"Need a break."

"Can't. I have another tour already planned and Ryan from Panic is like- lossing it or something- I gotta babysit until they kiss and make up."

"Ryan could do better," Gabe mumbled.

"Panic's his band."

"Was," Gabe held the bowl for Pete to take a hit, before he talked more, "He seems lost lately. Like me the last year of Midtown. He needs to branch out."

It was a few seconds until Pete let the smoke out and asked, "And leave?"

"Yeah... You know Dan Keyes wants him for something."

"Keyes? It's nothing good then."

"At least Ryan would get some words in with him, then," Gabe argued. He pushed on Pete every time he tried to sit up. If Pete was successful he would just start really arguing.

"Stop."

"No."

"Gabe." Pete threatened now fighting two of Gabe's hands holding him down.

"Stay still."

"I need to move."

"You don't need to do anything besides relax." Gabe ordered. He kept his grip on Pete with one hand, but started to rub his back with the other. "Take three deep breaths and tell me you don't feel better."

When he started to fight again, Gabe told him to breath in and Pete listened. By the third deep breath Pete was sinking into the bed and getting out of his head. 

Sometimes Gabe was right, but he was still an asshole. 

"So, feel better?" Gabe asked quietly. He went back to rubbing his hair.

"Yeah."

"Wanna tell me what's really wrong?"

"Everything and nothing, Saporta. You know the drill."

"You taking everything you're supposed to?"

Gabe wasn't one of the three people who could ask that (his doctor, mom, and Patrick were). This time he let it slide.

"Yeah."

"And then some?"

"Yeah," Pete admitted, "Nothin' too bad, not again."

"Good. Same." Gabe sighed slightly. His hands kept moving, one on Pete's back and the other looking for the bowl again. "You want another hit?"

"Yeah."

This time Gabe took a hit and pulled Pete up. He pressed their lips together to share the exhale. Pete melted into him letting Gabe do whatever. His tongue prodding around his mouth. 

Eventually he stopped him, "Gabe, Gabe, I- I really can't right now."

"That's okay." Gabe whispered, petting his face. When Pete didn't say anything he added, "Hey, Petey pup, it's okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Everything's okay. You're gonna be okay."


End file.
